


Oblation

by exarite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Future Explicit Content, Hemipenis, Human Sacrifice, IM TRYING NOT TO and it's not my intention but jic you don't like that, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Dumbledore Bashing, Morally Ambiguous Character, Naga Voldemort, No Underage Sex, Old Gods, Self-Sacrifice, Snakes, The Golden Trio, Well-Meaning Albus Dumbledore, offscreen minor character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-12-28 12:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21136382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/pseuds/exarite
Summary: The village of Lind knows safety and good harvest. For years now, they've lived in peace under the protection of the snake god.But this peace comes with a price. Every seven years, the snake god demands a sacrifice, a tribute pure of heart so he may consume it.At eleven years old, Harry’s name is called.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> huge huge HUGE thanks to [Wolven_Spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolven_Spirits/pseuds/Wolven_Spirits) for the amazing beta job. They really shaped this fic up, and the end product is so much better because of it <3 <3 <3

In Lind, they had two seasons of harvest. Once for the spring, and once more for winter.

Harry remembered clearly the pre-winter planting that came after his birthday, the memories even now so vivid. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the smell of the ground, fertile and warm, and the sounds of the farmers tilling the earth and planting the seeds.

Those memories were all he had now.

In Lind, they had two seasons of harvest. And then there was the _ other _ Harvest.

It came every seven years, and Harry was only four when he experienced his first. He hadn't understood then, had only stayed silent and behaved as his Aunt Petunia had ordered him to. His aunt’s face had been grim and drawn, his cousin Dudley clasped tightly in her arms. His uncle had stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder as they both stared, silent and solemn at the center of the square.

Harry remembered watching as their village leader, Cornelius Fudge, called out the name of another boy, one he did not know, and he remembered the hush that came over the crowd. The moment of silence seemed to stretch on forever before the chosen boy had risen up, expression determined and steely. Harry remembered the way the boy’s mother had wailed, the way the father’s stoic expression had cracked.

And then Fudge called out another name, and then another, a boy and a girl. Three children in total, their mothers and fathers crying. Harry watched as the three were brought to Dumbledore and the old man took them away.

He remembered the confusing mix of feelings thick in the crowd. The families whose children had been spared had hugged each other with what Harry didn't know yet was relief and joy. Those who had lost theirs could do nothing but cry.

Harry had tugged on his aunt's hand that day, his face round still, childhood clinging to his cheeks.

He had asked her then with just the barest lisp, "Why are they crying?"

His aunt had turned her head and looked at him then. For once, her face hadn't held the usual irritation that it did when she usually looked at him. The lines of her face hadn’t been so hard.

Harry remembered it clearly because she had never looked at him like that again.

"I'll explain when you're older," she had said.

In the end, she hadn't needed to.

Seven years later, Harry's own name was called.

*

“Harry Potter.”

From the village center, Fudge met his gaze as Harry stood up, Fudge’s eyes assessing. He felt like he was being measured, and worse, was found wanting.

Harry bowed his head. He stared at his hands, at the fine tremble that ran through them. He didn't cry. He didn't even make a sound.

Two more names came after him: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. 

Harry watched as their parents cried. He could barely believe the number of redheads that clasped Ron tight, the boy's face pale. He looked like he was about to pass out. Hermione looked no less afraid, her shoulders tight and her eyes sightless as she stared into the distance. All three of them so young and fearful.

He left his aunt, his uncle and his cousin behind him without another glance. He was old enough now to see the first, instinctual relief in their faces when his name was called instead of Dudley's, and then the mild guilt that came after. Not from his uncle, no, but his aunt had looked at him then with something approaching compassion. Something else, too, that Harry didn't quite understand.

Harry walked past the crowd, their pitying gazes following him. His skin itched under the collective weight of it, and it got no better as the three of them joined Fudge in the center. They glanced at each other, momentarily meeting each other's eyes before they looked away.

Harry said nothing to them, his lips pressed together, his hands clutched in front of him to stem the shaking. He said nothing even when Fudge led them to the House, all the way at the very outskirts where the village was about to end, and the forest was about to begin. An in between, in some way.

They were brought inside, past the main sitting area into the rooms where no one but their village leader and his most trusted stayed. He chatted inanely all throughout, seemingly oblivious to the way Harry, Ron, and Hermione held themselves, tense and tight. Ready to run but nowhere to go.

Harry had always wondered how the inside of the House looked like. It had been a source of unending curiosity just a few days ago, but actually seeing it now, his attention was frayed at the edges. He didn’t care. 

"I'll hand you three off to Dumbledore. He's in charge of you tributes," Fudge said, the careless air as he waved his hand making Harry bristle.

He led them to another room, and behind a desk, an old man sat. His hair was long and white, his beard possibly just as long as it reached his waist. There was a grim expression on his wrinkled face, his shoulders slumped.

Dumbledore motioned for them to sit across from him, and Harry settled into the rightmost chair, his hands twisting and turning. Harry squirmed at the weight of his stare even as Dumbledore directed his gaze to Hermione and Ron too. Beside him, Ron leaned back as he played with the hem of his shirt. On his other side, Hermione straightened up, her chin lifting attentively.

Finally, Dumbledore murmured, "Do you understand, my children, what this means for you?"

Harry swallowed. He looked beside him at Ron and Hermione and watched as they both quietly nodded. Harry’s chest ached, and his gaze flicked from them to Dumbledore, the understanding all three of them seemed to share and that he wasn’t a part of. 

Harry cleared his throat. "No," he rasped. "No one has ever explained it to me."

Dumbledore looked at him silently, and Harry's eyes raised up to take him in. Harry was struck by just how _ old _ he looked. He was an old man with even older eyes, weariness dragging at his features. He looked immeasurably and bone-deep tired. Most striking was the dullness in his features as he gazed at them, that pity in them mixed with a drawn sort of kindness.

"There is a god who lives in our forest," Dumbledore started, voice low and solemn, and Harry straightened up. "Every seven years, he asks for a sacrifice. A tribute pure of heart so he may consume it."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and when he tried to breathe, it came out as a hitching gasp. He steeled himself and stuck out his chin, even as it wobbled.

"That's us, then," he declared. He understood now why this morning's breakfast had been tense, as if a formless monster had shaped itself into something almost visible that breathed down their necks. He understood the tight atmosphere, thick enough that Harry had to wade through it as his aunt and uncle let him accompany them to the village square for once.

He had been called for his death. Harry was going to die today.

"No," Dumbledore said quietly, eyes tracking his features. "Not yet."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and then gently he called out, "Cedric?"

Another boy entered the room and Harry's breath caught in his throat. He stared, stunned speechless, as the boy from seven years ago gave him a small smile.

"As he desires a tribute pure of heart, the stories say that only one pure of heart can defeat him," Dumbledore murmured. Beside him, Cedric only nodded, his hands clasped in front of him. He held a calm acceptance, a serenity about him in the face of what he had been raised to do.

Harry wondered if he knew how his father had become a bitter drunk, crying for his son every night. He wondered if Cedric knew his mother was dead.

"What happened to the other two, the ones chosen with you?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore rested a hand on Cedric's shoulder. It looked solid, firm, and Harry swallowed down his nervous fear.

"Cedric showed himself worthy. The others are serving the village in a different way."

It was better this way, Dumbledore told them as he gently explained. Rather than a Harvest, and then a Sacrifice to the god all in one day, they spaced it apart. They prepared their tributes, kept them pure of heart and raised them with the hope that someday, somehow, they'd triumph over the forest god.

Then, at the end, they picked once more. Their Champion of the Light, pure, and powerful.

Harry, if chosen, only had seven years left to live.

As there were times for planting and times for harvest, there was also the time in between. The period of waiting, before the crops grew and were ready.

(But the better metaphor, Harry supposed much later once he was old enough, was that of lambs raised for slaughter.)

*

At the edge of the forest Cedric Diggory stood, proud and tall. 

He was dressed in white, his robes clean and pressed. Looking back, Harry couldn’t help but think how young it made him look; Cedric’s handsome features made cherubic, angelic in their youthful curves.

Cedric wavered, a boy of only fourteen caught in between life and death, but still he went. His expression was steely, determined, and he held his dignity tight around his shoulders.

Harry had wondered if he’d have the same dignity if he was chosen.

They met gazes. It was only a moment, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but Harry was struck. Drawn in by the serenity of Cedric, the lack of fear on the other boy only exemplifying the own fear that was making Harry’s hands tremble. 

Cedric smiled at him. Harry straightened up, a brief burst of hope filling him. Maybe Cedric would make it. Maybe Cedric would be the one to end this.

To his side, Hermione clasped her hands to her chest and made a soft sound, gaze locked onto Cedric. Ron looked like he’d rather not watch at all, and yet something kept his eyes on Cedric. Harry understood. It was the kind of horrifying where you couldn’t bear to look, and yet it would be worse to look away.

Harry could do nothing but watch as Cedric disappeared into the forest, a figure of white slowly disappearing into the endless shadows. A muted sense of horror was heavy in his gut despite the earlier hope. It was only stirred the more he thought about the monstrous god that Cedric had to face all by himself, and of how Harry himself might have to do the same.

They waited until the sun came up, until Harry’s own eyes drooped no matter how hard he tried to keep them open. The light of dawn shone through the leaves overhead, bathing them and the ground in a gentle glow. It was beautiful. 

Cedric didn’t return.

*

They followed Dumbledore back into the House.

Harry was numb. Grief and loss, confusion and a new anger battled inside him. He was barely aware as they sat him down for breakfast in the main dining hall, a muted and quiet affair, all of them ruminating on what and who they had sacrificed. Harry had only known Cedric for so little time, and yet he felt raw, scraped open inside.

Why did they do this? Why was this normal?

Hermione sat across him, and with a brief hesitation, Ron took the seat beside him. Hermione looked to be on the verge of tears; she didn’t meet his eyes. 

Even as they put the food down in front of him, the scent of it making his stomach growl and his nostrils flare, Harry couldn't muster up the appetite. It looked better than anything he had ever had, the cut of meat juicy and dripping a grotesque red, the vegetables fresh. Yet all Harry could do was push his food around his plate.

Ron, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Harry stared at him as he shoved spoon after spoon into his mouth, a seemingly bottomless pit. Harry and Hermione gave each other disbelieving looks, both of them smiling, even if it was strained and short-lasting. A moment of amusement even in the solemn mood. 

It couldn’t last. His mind was still caught on the sight of Cedric's back, the image practically branded into Harry's mind. Even the color white itself made him flinch, reminding him of the firm set of Cedric's shoulders, the determined, hard line of his jaw. 

_ Had it been quick? _ he wondered. If it had been, then that meant that Cedric hadn't even stood a chance against Voldemort, even after seven years of whatever training Dumbledore had given him. His eyes slid towards Hermione and Ron, his heart a steady, low pounding in his chest. He wondered which one of them Dumbledore would deem worthy.

_ Had it hurt? _

His hands curled around his utensils, his knuckles white. He didn't want to know the answer.

*

Harry found sleep hard that first night, unable to do anything but toss and turn. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable. Far from it. It was the nicest bed that Harry had ever slept on, but his mind was still caught.

The tense breakfast with the Dursleys already seemed as if it was years behind him rather than just a few hours ago. Harry felt weary and restless.

He looked to his side and eyed what appeared to be the sleeping form of Ron. He wondered if he was pretending like him, or if Ron had already put the day’s events past him.

Harry tilted his head up towards the roof and closed his eyes.

The sight of Cedric draped in white as he entered the dark forest replayed over and over in his mind, until the dark shadows seemed to grow bigger, big enough that they overwhelmed and moved past the boundary of the forest, its tendrils reaching up over Cedric’s feet. The trees seemed taller, more imposing, Cedric smaller and smaller, the white of his attire dimmer and dimmer with each replay. The ground at his feet seemed to writhe, a shapeless mass that Harry couldn’t make out even as it curled and slithered over Cedric’s legs. The face of the other boy seemed to morph and change, a dizzying flux, until Harry started with shock and horror at the sight of his own face imposed upon Cedric’s. 

His mirror image stared back at him. There was no fear in his face, just the same calm acceptance that he had seen in Cedric. Harry found that this scared him more than anything else had.

He watched himself, Harry-in-Cedric’s-body, as Cedric walked into the forest once more.

It was only when he woke up, gasping and sweaty, the sheets tangled around his knees, that Harry realized he had been dreaming.

*

Harry, Ron and Hermione formed a tentative, not-quite-friendship the next few days. No one else could understand the inevitable horror the three of them felt. 

But still, Harry wasn’t sure if he could call either of them friends. He got along with the both of them well enough, but Harry had never had a friend before. Maybe this _ was _ what having friends was like. His only other basis for comparison was Dudley and his gang, and Harry could do without the bullying and the mean-spirited competition that Dudley’s gang partook in.

This casual… whatever they had, was good enough for Harry. He didn’t think that he’d get anything else.

He took to his new life more easily than Hermione and Ron did, far too used to being locked in and unable to leave. Despite Harry’s possible fate as a sacrifice, he found himself enjoying life in the House. They had no chores aside from keeping their rooms clean, and the meals were just as hearty and delicious as they had seemed that first night, even if Harry hadn’t eaten then.

Life was good, or as good as it could be, and Harry found it much better than living with the Dursleys. And so Harry was lulled into a sense of complacency. 

He didn’t think much of it when the three of them were called one morning, exactly a month after the Harvest, and dressed in white. They were brought to the edge of the forest, exactly where they had seen Cedric off.

Harry frowned. There was something about this place, in-between forest and civility. He felt as though he was being watched. He couldn’t do anything but force it out of his mind, reaching out to accept the plates filled with meat handed to them.

As Ron made to take a bite, a hand stopped him.

“That’s not for you,” a voice scolded, and Ron immediately dropped the slice of meat. The tips of his ears turned red and he ducked his head, scuffling his feet. Harry blinked up at the girl. She looked older than them, her hair long and her face pale.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled. As the girl turned away, Ron discreetly picked up a stray slice of meat and popped it into his mouth. They met eyes and Harry covered his mouth as they both snickered.

“Proceed.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm and clear, drawing attention in the way it did.

The three of them straightened up, and with a sense of unease, Harry realized that it was only the three of them who had the plates of meat. The others gathered a bit further off, nearer to the shade of the House and in a loose semi-circle. They were empty handed, simply watching Harry, Hermione and Ron.

Under Dumbledore’s guidance and watchful eye, they bent down and placed the plates on the ground.

“As tradition calls,” Dumbledore continued.

The same girl who had reprimanded Ron stepped to stand in front of him, and Harry straightened in attention. He raised his head and their eyes met but her gaze quickly skittered away.

In her hands was a knife. It was small, nothing bigger than what they used for meals. She pressed it into his hands.

“Cut yourself,” she whispered. “Just a bit, over the food.”

“Why?” Harry asked, bewildered, his hands tightening over the knife. She shook her head, still avoiding his eyes, and Harry looked up to see Dumbledore watching him expectantly.

That unease from earlier felt more insistent now. Still, Harry obediently pressed the sharp edge over his thumb until a bead of blood welled up. He held it out over the plate and squeezed his thumb until a single drop fell into the meat.

In the next second, the girl was already reaching out and taking the knife away from him. Harry let go of it; his hands felt empty. He clasped them close to his chest, squeezing again at the tiny cut over his thumb. Another drop of blood rose to the surface, just as Ron cut into his own thumb.

Ron did the same as him, a single drop of blood into the plate, and then Hermione, her sharp eyes darting back and forth over Dumbledore, to the people gathered around them, to the plates on the floor in front of them. There was an energy to her. She seemed to almost be vibrating out of her skin, but as Harry shot her a questioning look, she simply shook her head.

They stood there in silence. No one moved, no one talked. Harry would think that no one was breathing if he couldn’t hear his own breath. He didn’t know what they were waiting for until—

Harry straightened up. There, low on the floor, was a glint of scales. They were dark green, almost black from where Harry stood, and he let out a surprised breath as he realized it was a group of snakes. Not one, not two. Harry couldn’t count how many snakes came, both from high, the branches of the trees, and low, from the undergrowth. He couldn’t tell where one snake started and where the next one ended.

Beside him, Ron shuddered in visible disgust. He looked pale, his freckles standing out stark against his sheet-white skin. His eyes were glued to the mass of snakes as they swallowed down the chunks of meat and fought amongst themselves.

A sick thought rose without his consent. Was this their fate in the future? The image of snakes writhing over him, ready to devour him, their bodies stretching—Harry covered his mouth and looked away.

When he managed to look again, the plates were empty. The snakes abandoned the plates, uncaring now that there was nothing left. The white of the plates looked out of place now on the forest ground, the dark red juice of the raw meat the only remnants of the sacrifice.

With no other words, Dumbledore dismissed them.

“It’s just another sacrifice,” Hermione finally hissed out once the three of them were alone. She had been red with the effort to restrain herself, and now that she didn’t need to, she was almost tripping over her own words. “Meat and blood—our blood, of course our blood, who else’s blood would it be?”

“And it was just us,” Ron said. His voice sounded strange. Harry said nothing, his index finger swiping over the wound that had already stopped bleeding.

It was practice, he realized. A taste of what was to come.

*

Harry dreamt that night once more. He watched the image of himself stare back at him, pale and wide green eyes. And no matter what he did, or what he said, he could do nothing but watch as Harry turned, walked into the forest, and didn’t look back.

And in the darkness, the glint of scales. Black in the moonlight, shiny and clear, wrapping around Harry as he disappeared into the cover of the trees. Soft and tender, almost as if it were welcoming him home.

_ Wake up _, Harry told himself. It’s just a dream.

Harry’s eyes shot open, and he could see nothing but dark shadows, the image of clawed hands reaching out towards him.

He screamed. He stumbled backwards and fell, landing on the dew-wet grass of the boundary that separated the forest from the village. He pushed himself away, staggering to his feet. His heart pounded in his chest.

A cold sweat made its way down his back as Harry looked around himself frantically. He had no clue how he had ended up here in front of the forest, when he was sure he had fallen asleep in his bed.

He swallowed. He felt clammy and lightheaded, barely able to breathe. His heart was still beating frantically in his chest, uncontrollable despite how he grasped at his chest in an effort to make it calm.

He adjusted his glasses, looking back at the dark shadows, the clawed hands, and felt a hiccup escape him as he realized—those weren’t hands. They were branches from the trees. Harry laughed, inappropriately loud from the surprise. He covered his face, hunching over his knees.

They were just branches.

He straightened up, his heartbeat finally beginning to slow down. It still didn’t explain why he was near the forest rather than in bed, but it wasn’t the first time Harry had sleepwalked.

It was just because he kept dreaming of the forest, he told himself. That was it. He gave the dark shadows one last look, his eyes passing over the reaching branches, the shifting of leaves in the darkness, and turned back to make his way home to the House.

Behind him, the glint of scales shifted, before it disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half unbetaed :P please note new tags!

Harry couldn’t help himself. As soon as he woke up, he went back to the forest, determined this time to prove to himself that his fear was uncalled for. He said nothing to Ron who was still sleeping spread out over his own bed and snoring loudly.

Harry was used to waking up early. It was a habit—a necessity, really—he had gained from living with the Dursleys, and it followed him even here. This was about the time he was supposed to be either making breakfast or tending the garden and right now, most of the inhabitants of the House were still sleeping.

When he got to the boundary of the forest, there was no one there. Nothing but the trees and the sky above uncaring.

Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. He exhaled and looked around, breathed in the crisp morning air. The branches that had looked like claws the other night looked  _ so…normal _ now. So utterly unextraordinary that Harry couldn’t believe he had been so afraid of it.

The morning light certainly gave a fresh view of things.

A sudden movement in the bushes drew his eye and Harry straightened up. He tilted his head, squinting at the rustling of the leaves. They’ve been told not to go into the forest, but Harry didn’t even think of that now. 

He approached and crouched down, curious despite himself. Slowly, he reached out and pushed the bush away to reveal a snake. 

Harry jolted, almost falling back in surprise, and he immediately scolded himself. Of course it was a snake, what else would it be?

Harry eyed it warily. Strangely, it looked like it was eyeing him back, both of them caught in an impromptu staring contest. It was bigger than the other snakes from the other day, Harry immediately noticed. It looked expectant, its little tongue darting out to taste the air. 

Harry squirmed. “I don’t have anything for you today,” he told it honestly, almost regretfully. While terrifying, looking back on that sacrifice for the snakes yesterday also made him think that the snakes looked particularly starved. Did they not eat well in the forest?

Harry knew what it was like to be hungry. He knew enough to understand that he didn’t want that for anyone—or anything else.

“Maybe tomorrow?” He told the little snake and felt a little dumb. It wasn’t like the snake could understand him.

“Hey!”

Harry  _ did _ jump at that, shooting up to his feet. He looked back, wide-eyed and guilty, and came face to face with the girl from yesterday who had given him the knife and the meat for the sacrifice.

“You’re not supposed to be here right now,” she said harshly. She blustered, shoving her shoulders back, and at Harry’s continued, wide-eyed silence, her shoulders abruptly dropped. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she repeated, softer now.

She seemed—not delicate, but…drawn. Tired. There was something brittle in her eyes that she hid behind strength, but it was far too early in the morning for masks. The more Harry looked at her, the more he felt like she was about to burst into tears any minute.

“Sorry,” Harry said. He glanced down. The snake was gone.

Hurriedly, Harry walked back to the House, leaving the Forest boundary. The back of his neck prickled, but Harry didn’t look back.

“It’s almost time for breakfast,” the girl told him. She frowned at him thoughtfully, and Harry was grateful when she didn’t ask  _ why _ he happened to be there, or other questions that Harry wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry apologized, ducking his head. He looked up at her through the side of his eyes, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “I…I never got your name, sorry.”

She hesitated, her eyes sliding to him and then away. 

“Cho,” she said stiffly. She hid her face behind her face, and without a word, she turned her back on Harry and left.

*

Harry returned the next day, this time with meat wrapped up in a napkin. He wasn’t sure if the snake from yesterday would be there, and Harry found himself pleasantly surprised to find that it was.

“Here,” he said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder furtively, checking if anyone had followed him. There was no one there, not even Cho, but Harry still needed to be quick.

The snake gobbled up the slice of meat in one bite, its body stretching, and Harry found himself partly horrified but—also, partly fascinated.

As soon as the snake was done eating, Harry hurried away, not wanting to be scolded another time.

Every day after that, Harry found himself drawn to the forest. Again and again, he found himself at the boundary, more often than not. He was there even when he didn’t need to be, on days where he, Hermione and Ron didn’t need to sacrifice to the snake god.

Sometimes Cho caught him. Mostly, she didn’t. Harry had learned to go early enough that she wouldn’t see him.

He couldn’t understand the draw the forest had on him. He spent his mornings at the edge of it, and at night, he sleepwalked constantly, waking up to the grass that lay as a boundary. 

He didn’t know what Hermione and Ron would say if they knew, and so he didn’t tell them. It was hard when the three of them were always together, but at night, when Ron was asleep, Harry took his chances and went to that place between the forest and the village. He didn’t need to sleepwalk anymore. He went of his own choice.

And always, always, there were snakes. Only one or two at first, hiding in the undergrowth and bushes, but the more often Harry went, the more snakes started to come. By the time another month had passed, there were around fifteen snakes that greeted Harry at the boundary. He had started to need to sneak more and more meat out to them.

When he, Hermione, and Ron had been called again to sacrifice meat and give blood, Harry was no longer afraid. How could he be, when he knew the snakes who came out to greet them? The snakes from the forest were sweet things, just hungry. They let Harry pet them and talk to them, and that was more than what Harry could say about most other people.

Harry knew that Ron, and Hermione too, disliked them. He couldn’t blame them. After all, they were being raised to be sacrificed to the snake god, and the snakes were his. 

But that part was easy to forget. Harry crouched down low, holding out a chunk of meat he had saved from his dinner. He let out a tentative hiss.

The answering low hiss made him smile, and he grinned as one snake, two, a whole group of snakes came slithering out from under the bushes. The darkness of their scales made it hard to see with how little light there was, but the moonlight was enough to make them glint. 

It was easy to imagine that the snakes could understand him, even if he couldn’t understand them. There had always been plenty of little garden snakes in the Dursley’s garden. It was a sign of the snake god’s blessing, or so they said, and that was the only reason why Aunt Petunia hadn’t made him get rid of them. Harry had talked to those snakes too, little things about his day, and it had been easier then because Harry hadn’t been chosen yet to be sacrificed to the snake god.

Harry wondered if they were still there.

Silently, Harry fed the last of the leftover chicken to the snake directly in front of him. It was bigger than the other snakes, and when Harry was feeling fanciful, he’d even say that its scales were shinier, its teeth sharper, its gaze more intelligent and more intense. If they were to have a King, it would be this particular snake.

“This is all I have,” he whispered to it. He peeked back over his shoulder before he quickly turned back to the snakes staring at him. “I’ll come back tomorrow night,” he promised.

As the King snake finished the last of the chicken, it gave him one last, seemingly haughty look before it turned and disappeared back into the forest, joining the rest of the other snakes. Harry laughed softly to himself.

He didn’t waste time. He went back and climbed into the window of his room, sneaking back into his bed.

He dreamt of the forest again that night.

*

“Straighten your back, fix your clothes—girl, do something about your hair!” Fudge’s orders came quickly, and all three of them hurriedly fixed themselves to look presentable. It had been two months since their names have been called, and they already knew what was expected of them.

Harry hated whenever Fudge observed them. He had so many rules that they had to keep in mind, and Harry’s brain was bursting to keep up with all of them. It didn’t help that every day, there seemed to be new ones. It only added to Harry’s growing pile of frustrations.

Still, they tried to keep up with Fudge’s rules. Every day, they woke up early to brush their hair, fix their clothes, shine their shoes—everything. One’s appearance reflected what was inside them, or so Fudge said, and so they had to look as spotless as possible. Cleanliness was next to Godliness. They were here to be as pure as the freshly fallen snow.

And yet, no matter what they did, it was never good enough for Fudge.

“You, boy, tuck in your shirt!”

Harry kept his mouth shut, even if inside, he wanted to point out that his shirt was already tucked in. Still, he fixed it as best as he could. Fudge never called them by name. It was like he had completely forgotten them, even if he had been the one to call them by name in the first place.

Maybe with all the sacrifices, Fudge didn’t want to bother. Not when they were just going to die anyway.

*

“This is useless!” Hermione cried, and Harry and Ron looked up. They glanced at each other before they turned back to Hermione. Her face was turning red, her eyebrows pinched and her mouth a hard line. She met their gazes, her eyes burning, and gestured angrily at the books they had been given. “Have you read this?” she demanded.

Harry coughed. “Er, well, I tried?” he said uncertainly. It was very dry reading and hadn’t held his interest even the slightest bit.

“No,” Ron said. He didn’t say anything else, only raised his eyebrows, and Hermione let out a frustrated groan.

“Well,” Hermione started imperiously, straightening up. She didn’t seem to notice as Ron’s nose crinkled at her tone, too busy opening the book and pushing it towards them. “I’ve read the whole thing from cover to cover, and the entire thing is just propaganda.”

Harry had no idea what propaganda was. He was eleven, and he had very different priorities that didn’t happen to include vocabulary.

“It’s supposed to be a history of Lind, but look at how much it worships and, and—and  _ reveres _ the forest god! Look at how it talks about the glory of the Sacrifice, how we’re all just…” Hermione trailed off, her face pale. She looked sick. “How we’re  _ expendable. _ How it’s all necessary.”

“It  _ is  _ necessary,” Ron argued, but it came out weak as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “It keeps us safe, keeps the harvest good. It’s how it’s always been.”

“Keeps  _ them _ safe,” Hermione said bitterly. “We’re not included in that anymore. Just because that’s how it’s always been, it doesn’t mean that’s how it always should be.”

“You’re right,” Harry spoke up, and then blinked in surprise. He hadn’t meant to say that, but now that he had, he found that he meant it. He had been thinking about it the past few days, and the thought that Hermione or Ron had to die so others could live didn’t sit well with him. Cedric shouldn’t have had to go into the forest at all. 

Ron frowned. He looked unsure, his shoulders slumped and conflict wrought on his features.

“But what can we do?” Ron asked plaintively, and even Hermione stayed quiet at that. The lazy mood from earlier was completely gone, replaced by the glum and grim reality.

“Surely there’s something.” Hermione closed the book, biting her lip. She dragged it closer towards her, her own shoulders dropped low. She tucked her head into her chest and closed her eyes.

The somber mood was too much for Harry. “Who even wrote that?” he asked in a flimsy attempt to change the subject.

“Some woman named Umbridge,” Hermione muttered. She sighed. “I want to read a book that’s actually good, not books like the ones they’ve been giving us.”

“Of all the things we’re missing here, that’s what you want?” Ron complained, but it was good-natured and Hermione simply huffed. Ron tilted his chair back and scratched the back of his head, almost pouting. “There are so many things I want to do out there…” he hesitated, just for a bit, before he continued, “I want to see my family.”

His morose tone ignited something in Harry. He could live without seeing the Dursleys again—in fact, it was preferable, but Harry knew Ron loved his family. A surge of confidence and daring filled him, and he straightened up.

“Let’s go, then. Let’s go out.”

“Out?” Hermione hissed, her eyes wide. She looked like Harry had just suggested they kill someone. “That’s against Fudge’s rules!”

“So?” Ron grinned. Harry gave Hermione a sheepish look, showing just how much he cared about Fudge’s rules. Which was, at the moment, not at all.

Hermione gaped at them, looking back and forth at each of their faces as if either of them would drop the farce and say they were just kidding. Neither of them, of course, was just kidding.

Hermione looked down at her book, expression pinched as she inwardly debated before she sighed. “You know what?” she grumbled. “Fine, let’s go.”

Behind her, Ron and Harry shared a high-five.

“ _ Later _ ,” Hermione said, voice hard. “At night.”   
  
All they could do was eagerly nod. 

*

Hermione didn’t go back to her room after dinner, choosing instead to stay with them in Ron and Harry’s room. They chatted aimlessly, about everything and nothing. Simple, harmless topics.

When the sun disappeared and silence fell in between the three of them, Harry couldn’t help but to clear his throat and give voice to what he had been wondering quietly to himself.

"Do you ever wonder what he's like?" Harry hesitantly asked. Even with his voice as soft as it was, he still felt as if he was disturbing the peace of the quiet night. He didn't need to specify who he was talking about. There was only one thing that loomed over them. A burden shared was supposed to be a burden lifted, but this particular burden laid heavily on their collective shoulders and only weighed more and more each day.

"All the time," Ron admitted shamelessly, after a pause. All three of them tried not to talk about the snake god, after all, and for Harry to bring it up now must be surprising. "Fred and George—" Ron's words only hitched a little bit at the mention of his brothers. The first few months had been worse. He couldn't talk about them without withdrawing into himself. Harry suspected he would have cried in those early days if it wasn't so shameful to him.

Ron cleared his throat and continued as if he hadn’t stopped at all, "Fred and George liked to make up versions of him." He let out something that could almost be a laugh if you tilted your head and tried to hear it a different way. "The next one was always scarier than the last. Claws and teeth and poison and scales, shadows and darkness and blood and pain. Everything you could think of. My mum told them to knock it off."

The two of them waited silently for Hermione to speak. When she finally did, her voice was even and assured. "He would have to be large. Powerful. All the living eyewitness accounts describe a monstrous half-man, half-snake sort of creature."

"Think he has a dick?" Ron asked, and the shock of it made Harry laugh. They weren’t allowed such vulgar language, not when they were meant to be pure, and Ron relished in it when they were alone.

"Well," Hermione said, flustered. Harry couldn't see her face. She was much too far away, and it was too dark to see anything beyond a few feet, but her voice was enough. He could imagine the flush on her cheeks, the scrunch of her face. "Snakes have two."

“Bloody hell," Ron snorted. "Guess he has to have it all, huh. What a wanker.”

Harry laughed again, even as his brain skipped and stalled over the images in his brain. He couldn't even begin to imagine or visualize what the god of Lind looked like. Nothing his brain could ever think of would even come close to the truth, a part of him knew.

But still. There was no harm to wondering.

*

They waited until it grew dark. Slowly, the lights in the House turned off, until only the moon brightened the room. It gave the night a surreal quality, made it seem almost unreal. As if there were no consequences that would follow them into the light of day.

It gave Harry an odd sort of courage, one that seemed to overflow from his chest and fill his fingers, his toes. When he turned to look at Hermione and Ron, their faces shadowed, he felt electrified with the mere thought of what they were about to do.

“Ready?” Harry asked. His voice was hushed, and yet it sounded loud with how quiet the night was. All he could hear was the creak of wood, the faraway sounds of animals in the forests, and if he listened hard enough, the quiet breathing of the other inhabitants.

“Are we sure we want to do this?” Hermione muttered.

“You can get more books,” was all Ron said, and Hermione’s lips thinned before she nodded.

“Let’s go then,” Harry laughed.

They left Ron and Harry’s bedroom, tiptoeing and barely breathing, so afraid to make a sound and get caught. Harry felt giddy, his heart racing in his chest, his entire body thrumming with anticipation.

They snuck past the long hallway of bedrooms, the main gathering room, watching every step of the way. Hermione’s face looked pale, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was simply because of the moonlight or because of her fear. Every creak and press of their feet against the wood was unnaturally loud, thunder in the quiet night.

They don’t make it very far.

They’ve only just made it past the dining room when Harry heard the soft clearing of a throat. 

All three of them froze. Slowly, slowly, they looked up.

There, Dumbledore stood. He was wearing night robes, a disappointed yet serene expression on his face as he stared down at them from behind his spectacles. His lips were thin, his eyes shadowed, and Harry felt cowed underneath his gaze, even as Dumbledore stayed silent.

“I will not tell anyone what I’m seeing here now,” Dumbledore finally murmured. Harry had to strain his ears in order to hear him, even with how quiet the House was, but he exhaled, rough with relief when Dumbledore’s words finally registered.

If it had been anyone but Dumbledore to catch them, Harry didn’t know what would have happened. Fudge would not have been so kind to them, though, that Harry knew.

“But you must return to your rooms at once.” How he managed to still sound so calm yet stern, Harry didn’t know.

Beside him, Hermione meekly nodded. Even Ron didn’t do anything but duck his head and play with his hands. All their earlier bravado and happiness had completely escaped them. They weren’t brave adventurers escaping into the night anymore. Just disobedient children.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly.

The three of them quickly slunk back into their rooms, no conversation at all. Their shoulders slumped. 

“Well,” Hermione said once they reached the rooms. She had one hand on her doorknob, ready to slip into her own room, away from Ron and Harry. She smiled at them with forced cheer. “Let’s be more careful next time, yes?”

Surprised, Harry choked out a laugh and nodded, and beside him, Ron grinned wide. Their spirits lifted once more, even just a bit, they bid each other goodbye and retired.

*

“Harry, may I talk to you, please?”

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. He shrunk into himself and looked up at Dumbledore with wide eyes. It was an instinctual response; Harry was sure that Dumbledore was upset about them trying to sneak out. And when people were upset…more often than not, they took it out on him.

He hasn’t experienced the Dursley's particular brand of punishment in months, but who knew how long that would last?

Worriedly, he glanced over to Hermione and Ron and found them looking back at him.

“Nothing to worry about, dear boy.”

Harry ducked his head, tearing his gaze away. He nodded. Silently, he followed Dumbledore into his office, his hands stiff by his sides. He didn’t want to fidget. Fudge hated when they fidgeted.

He made to sit down in front of Dumbledore’s desk but stopped as Dumbledore shook his head.

“Follow me.” 

Harry trailed after him, looking around curiously as he was brought to a flight of stairs. Silently, both of them climbed up the wooden steps. Harry adjusted, stepping slower to make up for Dumbledore’s even slower steps. He ached to talk, brimming with nervous energy, and it was so at odds with Dumbledore’s ever-calm aura.

Dumbledore walked in front of him, much taller and easily blocking Harry’s view so that when he opened a door and stepped out, at first, Harry could see nothing.

And then Dumbledore stepped to the side, motioning Harry forward, and—

Harry let out a quiet gasp, his eyes widening in wonder. He could see the entire village from here, all the way to the very ends, where the roads thinned out into the horizon. He could see the fields, could see  _ people  _ again that weren’t from the House. If Harry squinted, he imagined he could even see his house.

“I find that I have a better view on things up here,” Dumbledore murmured.

Harry glanced at him but he found his gaze wandering back to the expanse of trees and plains, and the tops of houses. The people that walked around as they went about their day. 

Well, he thought, he certainly understood the view Dumbledore was talking about.

“I find it difficult,” Dumbledore continued somberly, “to remember the greater good at times.”

Harry’s gaze drifted down, nearer to the House, and found himself looking down at Hermione and Ron. They were talking, smiling at each other, and Harry’s shoulders slumped.

Something started to brew in him, an uncertainty deep inside. He tried to look at the forest once more, so different in the light of day and higher up. They weren’t high enough to look past the towering tops, deeper into the forest, but it was a new perspective, nevertheless.

And yet his gaze kept getting drawn back. Back to the people. To Ron and Hermione. Every single one of them, just going about their day. Safe from harm and protected, as much as they could be.

“Do you see now?” Dumbledore asked, gentle and low.

Slowly, Harry nodded.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a lot of mixed feelings about how i've written dumbledore :/ i never want to write dumbledore bashing, but i feel like this fic leans a lot in that direction. i'm trying hard to idk.... make it not that bad.
> 
> and also. can u believe it takes a community lockdown before i update ??? 😂 hope everyone's doing all right! wishing all you good health <3

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be my piece for the big bang, but a few months ago, i had 7.5k words that were an absolute mess and i was super super unhappy with it. with time and distance, i was finally able to fix it into something im content w, so i'm super excited to share this with you guys!!
> 
> i have a good 5k more of this written, but it still needs to be edited and fixed soooooo let's see. tentatively, there's 3 or 4 more chapters <3


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